


Dulce Periculum

by EtherealEnigma



Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Captain Marvel (Marvel Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1900s, Alternate Universe - Edwardian, Arranged Marriage, Character tags subject to change when I figure out what’s going on, Edwardian Period, F/M, Forbidden Love, Slow(ish?) burn, Yonvers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:34:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23643169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtherealEnigma/pseuds/EtherealEnigma
Summary: Carol Danvers is an American heiress of the Danvers Railroad Company desperate for adventure in the great wide world and a voice of her own. With her arranged marriage to an oil miner fastly approaching in the fall, she has one more summer in Boston before returning to New York and giving up her last fragments of freedom. But when the Rogg’s, owners of the largest, most senior textile corporation in England, join her family for their summer getaway to broker a deal to furnish all Danvers’ train cars, perhaps such dreams are not so far out of reach thanks to their eldest son and future successor, Yon Rogg.
Relationships: Carol Danvers/Yon-Rogg
Comments: 21
Kudos: 34





	1. Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> British Royal Navy - “If you want peace, prepare for war.”

“How long does it take to reel in a damn ship?” Joseph huffs while tugging at his tie.

“Dear lord boy, have you no patience?” his father grumbles, dabbing his handkerchief to his forehead as to keep the beads of sweat from dripping down his face.

‘Well, if you are so keen to get this ship to harbor, why don’t you get a move on bringing in the reels? The cabin boys look like they could benefit from your assistance,” Carol jests as she lazily moves her hand fan to blow pleasing breezes onto her skin

“Why don’t you, Carol? You’ve always been far more charitable than I,” Joseph scowls at her, unamused by her playful wit.

“Gladly,” she replies pushing up her peasant sleeves and squaring her shoulders back, ready to get to work. 

“Dear me,” her mother breathes, grabbing the back of her blouse and pulling her back. “You look like a jumpy josser!” pulling down her scrunched sleeves while her daughter pouts at her.

“You are aware that in only a short while, you are to be married, dear sister? Do you find it suitable for a wife to act so off her chump? Do you hope he will be bewitched by your antics?” Mary asks with judgemental pompous as she holds little William to her bosom.

“Goodness Mary, from the offense you take, one would think you’re the poor chap!” Carol quips back with a cock of her eyebrow and her lip.

“Blimey Carol,” her father sighs deflatedly, unamused

“I thought it was quite good if it’s any consolation,” Steven leans and whispers to her before being whipped with a fan and tossed him an evil glare from his wife, “what?”

“Do not feed into her impish behavior!” Mary chastises while brushing back her son’s golden locks, “it is exceptionally unbecoming of a lady of such status.”

“Oh lord, forgive me! For I can not be as charming or displiscened as fair Mary!” Carol thrusting the back of her hand to her forehead earning her a pinch from her mother.

“Carol if you do not stop this instance, so help me God -” 

The ruffling, echoing footsteps from the platform interrupts the tussle, a butler coming to the deck in front of them, a trio following closely behind.

“May I present the Rogg Family,” he bows.

“Ah, Joseph Danvers, It has been far too long!” the older man laughs with a warm, echoing tone, approaching Joseph Sr. with a certain glee. Still, something about him gave Carol shivers, a certain insincere edge to his gaze.

“You must accept my apologies, Vern Rogg. The autumn and winter found me occupied with our mechanics in the East and the spring with our friends in the North. It seems fate did not find me across the pond in England, but I am happy it found you here in America!” 

“As am I,” he smiles and takes the hand of the sharply dressed woman beside him, “you remember my wife, Lady Ivy Rogg, and my eldest, Yon Rogg.”

“It is wonderful to see you both again,” Joseph Sr. nods and shakes their hands accordingly, “as you will most likely recall, this is my first born, Steven Danvers, and his wife and son, Mary and William, my wife, Mrs. Marie Danvers, Joseph Danvers Jr., and let me be the first to introduce my youngest, Carol Danvers,” taking his daughter’s hand with feigned compassion and tenderness and offering it to the head of the Rogg household.

“I was unaware that you had a daughter, and such a handsome one at that!” He swoons, accepting her hand and taking it closer to his chest and bowing his head.

“Thank you, Mr. Rogg,” Carol replies, curtsying in respect, “although you mustn’t speak so highly of me, lord knows it shall go straight to my head.”

Her parents blanche at the quip and they all but reprimand her with their eyes, but she’s saved from their criticism when a light laugh leaves Mrs. Rogg.

“And a sharp wit as well, you have certainly been blessed with your third born!”

“Yes, truly blessed,” her father responds tightly, “why don’t we get a move on? There will be afternoon tea awaiting us upon our arrival.”

“Superb! Let us ride together to discuss business,” Vern agrees, taking his wife’s arm to lead her to the car that Mr. and Mrs. Danvers begin to migrate to.

Mary and Steven move towards the second car with little William totting along with his hand clasped in his father’s, leaving the third car for the youngest Danvers children and Yon Rogg. 

“I will chaperone you,” Joseph instructs his sister with an offer of his arm. Carol, however, knows better. Taking his arm was an order, not an option.

She links together their arms before asking with dry sarcasm, “what would I ever do without you ole’ Joe?”

“Probably wander straight into the nearest ravine, or blow into the nearest pub and spark a fight between a few blottos,” he answers dryly while opening the car door for her and extending a hand.

“I cannot deny, both do sound far more intriguing,” Carol ponders as she hoists herself into the car with his hand, smoothing her skirts once she settles into the backseat. She’s startled when Yon slides into the seat beside her, shutting the door.

“Oh please, I insist you take the seat in the cabby, you are our guest after all,” Joseph gently commands.

“Nonsense, you’d be far more cramped back here than I. Take the front seat, I’m sure Miss Danvers does not bite,” Yon holds his ground, offering him a charming and steadfast smile.

Joseph offers him the forced pleasantry of a smile before shutting the door. 

“How can you be so sure?” Carol asks, turning to eye her guest suspiciously.

“That you don’t bite?” Yon elaborates, Carol nodding in confirmation. He laughs, “I suppose because I’ve never seen a woman such as yourself do such a thing.”

“Some would say making such an assumption is unwise and naive,” she replies as Joseph settles into his seat and greets the driver.

“Others would say making these assumptions are the only way the world moves forward,” Yon answers with a grin as the car whirls to life, jerking forward suddenly. Carol finds herself unprepared, but a strong arm in front of her keeps her face from colliding with Joseph's leather seat.

Her hand grasps onto the door nearest to her for balance, using the support to steady and straighten herself, ignoring the rosy blush that washed her cheeks at his nearness, “there are always two faces to every coin, I suppose.”

“What?” He wonders humorously, “you will offer me no gratitude for keeping you from becoming intimately familiar with the leather interior?”

“A true gentleman needs no praise for the actions expected of him,” Carol grins, plastering her gaze out the wind in playful defiance.

  
  


Yon’s smirks, his eyes glancing down at the carpet flooring almost fondly, “I cannot deny, your logic _is_ impeccable.” 

* * *

Carol had always hated afternoon tea.

It wasn’t the food that made her cross, she actually quite liked the spicy chai they would import from India in the winter or the flowering jasmine buds from China in the spring. Lord knows that she could put away a whole tin of the crispy vanilla wafer sandwiches with fluffy strawberry crème. No, it was _certainly_ not the food. It was the _conversation._ Since they were served snacks instead of meals, afternoon tea was filled with small talk. Carol could easily sneak from breakfast and lunch, citing “afternoon errands” in town, and with the extravagant, multi-course dinners, she learned how to recognize the rhythm of the room and stuff her face at just the right moment to avoid the prodding of her family. But here in the parlor, there was nothing but time and silence to fill. 

  
  


Her finger aimlessly traces the ridge of the saucer, her tea long gone cold. She picks up bits of the conversation like breadcrumbs, a few short, obviously exaggerated stories here, a couple polite chuckles there. _How insincere_ , sipping at the lukewarm amber liquid in her teacup.

“So,” Mary begins, setting her cup and saucer onto the side table, “I do pray you did not find yourselves ill-equipped for your voyage. I always fall terribly sick on long sea stretches.”

Carol smirks, she knew a small trip could suffice just as well. 

“Oh after a few days, we adjusted just fine,” Ivy replies, “but Yon here was better than ever! A few weeks dull in comparison to the months he spent on the sea with His Majesty’s Naval Service.”

Carol’s ears perk at the notion, “you’re a sailor?”

“I served several terms as a commander in the Royal Navy,” Yon answers nonchalantly from his place on the sofa across from her. 

“Oh don’t tell dear Carol that,” Steven laughs, “she’ll hold you captive for your sea tales or worse yet, your secrets of the sails.”

“You enjoy the water then, Miss Danvers?” Mrs. Rogg pokes politely.

Before a word can even form in her mind, let alone slip from her lips, she finds another speaking for her. Never a surprise, but always a disappointment.

“I cannot recall a time when Carol wasn’t enamored with the water,” her mother laughs with a hearty laugh that is so insincere, Carol can almost see the guise laced between her words like ribbons in a young girl’s braids. “Even as a wee, little thing, she could smell out the nearest body of water from miles away.” 

“Do you sail often, Miss Danvers?” Mrs. Rogg asks again, wanting to speak directly to her.

“We have a small sailing yacht here to take on the Charles. During my summers, I go as often as one of my brothers will accompany me.”

“Perhaps Yon could take you!” Mr. Rogg proposes, clasping onto his son’s shoulder. “There is no chaperone more befitting than a former navy man.”

“What a grand idea! Tomorrow is supposed to be most splendid, warm breezes and clear skies,” his wife smiles in agreement, clasping her hands together at the thought.

Carol can feel her mother’s hand resting on her back, fingers ready to claw into her back if she speaks out of place. 

“Oh no, your travels must have made you tired. I assume you want to settle yourself in, not appease our dear Carol,” her father insists.

“Actually, a good sail is just what I need, that is, if Miss Danvers is in agreement?” Yon challenges, his eyes holding an inviting, charming glint.

She shouldn’t say yes, she knows she shouldn’t. She’d be adding an unknown variable to the deal, taking away the predictability of the equation. But it _was_ her last summer and she was powerless to say no to the sea.

“How could I refuse such an offer from such a seasoned professional?”

* * *

Tea didn’t go on much longer after that. It seemed no conversation could triumph over the offer the Rogg’s had made to Carol. Before they went on a tour of the estate while their guests unpacked and settled into their quarters, Carol’s parents gave her a lecture of rules of engagement for their voyage that was scheduled tomorrow morn. She had no interest in discussing business with him anyway, not that she could even if desired to. Her father and Joseph had made sure she was excluded in any vocational endeavors. 

When the party reconvened to begin their tour, William had made a fuss. Who could blame the boy? It had been his scheduled play time and instead he was expected to walk through a house he had seen a million and one times for God only knows how long. Her nephew occupied a soft spot in Carol’s heart so she volunteered to save the poor boy. Besides, she wasn’t too thrilled to hear the origins of the dining room set or the details of the custom designed Versailles style chaises either. 

“Elle, Elle,” he calls as he munches on some biscuits Carol had smuggled in her handkerchief during tea.

“Yes, Willie?” 

“Found it!” the boy cheers, pointing to the toy chest hidden behind some rose bushes near the garden shed. 

“Good eye!” she praises, placing her hands on his small shoulders, “the gardeners must have moved it while they were working this week.”

His grasping hands undo the lock with ease as he lifts the top with a helping hand from his hand. He squeals once he sees his prize, ripping toy after toy from the box and laying it onto the lawn: hoop and stick, jump rope, marbles. It’s not until he finds his kaleidoscope and his sets of swords and scabbards he is satisfied.

“Sailors, sailors, sailors!” William chants, thrusting the sheathed sword into her arms.

“You haven’t tired of this yet?” Carol sighs with a smile, tying her sheath to her waist before leaning and doing the same to the boy. He shakes his head rapidly with a grin as she finishes before running to the wood bench and climbing on.

Putting the kaleidoscope to his eye and searching the “coast,” he gasps dramatically, “Elle, there are mermaids on the starbird!”

“The starboard,” she corrects gently, settling herself beside him. “What do they say?”

His mouth agape, he rips his face from his “telescope” and turns to his aunt, “pirates are coming!”

Mimicking his expression, she leans into him, “pirates, you say?”

”Pirates! What do we do Captain?” he cries, grabbing onto her skirts in desperation.

“Well, my first mate, we do what we always do,” Carol says, standing up abruptly, “we storm!” 

Fisting a handful of her skirts and unsheathing her sword, she charges forward with a battle cry, William jumping down from his seat and following close behind. Standing back to back, they swipe at invisible enemies and jump over phantom obstacles. 

“Goodness, at least give your opponents a fighting chance!”

Her eyes go wide at the statement and her grip goes lax, the sword slipping from her hand and dully clunking onto the grass. Turning around cautiously, she calls over her shoulder, “are you alone?”

“Yes, I seemed to have lost the group somewhere between the salon and the music parlor,” Yon Rogg replies as he waves at the young boy eying him suspiciously.

“Lost or left?” Carol jests, approaching him with a lightness in her step at the reassurance she won’t be receiving a good scolding from her parents, brothers, or God forbid, Mary. 

“I will never tell,” he retorts, offering her a hand to help her up the steps onto the deck. After hauling the boy on her hip, she takes it gratefully. It’s rough with work, yet soft with tender care, and warm with something she can’t attribute to body heat. She almost forgets to let go, intoxicated by his touch, but pulls apart when William breaks the spell.

“Are you a _real_ sailor?” He investigates with a drawl, leaning out of his Aunt’s hold to interrogate him better.

“Commander of His Majesty’s 109th Fleet,” Yon assures, his hand over his heart in promise.

“Elle is the captain of our ship, I’m first mate!” William gushes, throwing his arms around blushing Carol.

“Oh?” Yon’s eyebrow cocks in amusement, “and what is the name of your vessel?”

“Elle named it! Tell him!”

“I don’t know Willie,” she dodges bashfully. The boy breaks into an elongated, exaggerated whine, and she caves, mumbling with embarrassment, “the USS Avenger.”

The boy rocks in her arms in excitement, “isn’t that neat?”

“Very,” Yon nods, taking the sword William has clasped in his hand. “Although, modern sailors have long moved on from blades.”

“What do you use then?” he questions with a slight confused pout of his lower lip.

“Cannons, bayonets, pistols-“

“I have a pistol! Elle, Elle let me show him,” he begs with his hands thrown around her neck.

She bends and sets his feet on the wood patio, jutting her head in the direction of the chest. “Go on,” Carol encourages, sending the boy running off. 

“So,” Yon drawls, “I could have sworn your name was Carol?”

“William has called me Elle ever since he was a babe. I was trying to teach him my name, but he could only get the latter half. I never had the heart to tell him otherwise,” she shrugs, her gaze trained on the boy, his small body hanging out of the chest in his search, a chuckle leaving her at the site.

Yon smiles at the chime-like sound. “I can’t blame you for taking refuge out here, it is far more lively.”

“Does my home bore you, Mr. Rogg?” Carol asks with feigned offense, her arms spreading on the railing overlooking the yard. 

“I’m under the belief that if staring at extensive amounts of furnishings for long enough could bore even the most spiritless,” he supplies, leaning comfortably on the railing.

She turns her head to look at him and he shrugs his shoulders. She laughs softly, “I have no choice but to yield to your understanding.”

Her eyes flicker over his face and for the first time, she gets a good look at him. He is undoubtedly handsome: strong jaw, clear skin, hallowed checks. His eyes are by far the most captivating to her though, second only to his bright smile. They speak volumes about his personality; he’s stern but tender, skillful and scrupulous even as adventurous awe shines in his honey eyes. When their eyes meet, she realizes he was doing the same and she wonders what he discovered from studying her. Did he see her longing for freedom? Her outspoken nature even as it was stifled by her family?

“I found it! I found it!” William yells, waving the small cast-iron toy in the air, startling them both.

“Careful on the steps!” Carol warns, walking to meet him. 

By the time his short legs finally carry him to Yon’s feet, he’s panting but still grinning ear to ear.

“Ah,” Yon hums, kneeling beside the boy and gently taking the toy into his hands, turning it over. “A fine replica. Do you know how to hold it?”

He takes it into one hand and points it at a tree unsteadily.

“That’s not how a soldier stands, here,” Yon approaches him, taking his tiny hands into his own. “Place both hands on the handle, put one foot slightly in front of the other, there you go!”

“How do i look Elle?” William shouts giddily over his shoulder.

“Like a true army boy!”

Suddenly, they hear someone calling Yon’s name from the house, finally registering his absence. 

“My mother,” he groans, “I best be getting back inside.” 

“If it’s any consolation, the art in the hall upstairs near the study is quite beautiful,” Carol provides. 

“I look forward to it then,” he nods before turning his attention back to William. “Get back to defending your ship, pirates can be quite stubborn!” Yon instructs, the boy saluting him messily. 

Before leaving, he stops in front of Carol, “I do hope to see your skills tomorrow, Captain.”

She smirks at the title, “if I deem you so worthy.”

He laughs lightly with a bow of his head, “until tomorrow, _Elle_.”


	2. Pax et Lux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today’s chapter title is the motto from Tufts University, “Peace and Light.”

“Good morning, Miss!”

Carol groans in a most undignified manner, rolling onto her stomach to avoid the reality that the unforgiving morning brings with its two-faced sunrise. She hisses when her maid throws open the silk curtains, tying them to their stays and allowing stinging, bright sunlight to filter into the room and scare away the remainders of night. 

“It’s time to wake up,” Natasha hums, setting the silver tray balancing her breakfast unto her vanity before picking up the small kettle and pouring some coffee into a cup, piping hot steam seeping from the drink. Her hands move to fix it just the way she likes its: three sugar cubes and a good serving of milk with just a dash of cream. 

  
  


“No,” Carol cries into the softness of her mattress, the sound muffled as she buries her head into her feather pillow and throws her baby blue duvet over her limp body for good measure. “It’s far too early, I refuse to rise submissively to the suppressive sun!” 

“You’re taking a stance against the sun are you now?

“I vow to take a stand against all oppressors, yes,” Carol smiles tiredly into her pillow as Natasha laughs while she gathers up her copper-colored robe and matching slippers in one hand, the cup and saucer in the other.

“Well, would some scones convince you to take a more literal stance outside of your sheets?” Natasha bargains as she crosses over to the bed, careful not to spill anything from the porcelain mug. 

Lifting her head just enough to cast a sly eye at the redhead, she mumbles, “with raspberry jam?”

“And a few extra slices of bacon, would I ever lead you astray?” she smiles, offering her mistress the warm drink.

She rolls her eyes, taking the set and giving it a preliminary stir with the teaspoon before hauling herself from the warmth of her blankets. “No, that’s why I’d only play second fiddle to you.”

“A wise statement from a foolish girl,” Natasha smirks as she slips the robe onto one of Carol’s arms, then the other, the coffee passing between the blonde’s hands accordingly. 

“Har, har,” she laughs drylily, her feet sliding into her smooth boudoir slippers. 

“I laid out an outfit for your sail, unless you had any preferences?” Natasha asks, brushing her hands onto her apron before grabbing the cream lace sundress with a high neck and half sleeves, holding it out for her approval. 

She touches the material: light, breathable, perfect for a day on the water. Other than its suitability for her endeavors, Carol cared and knew little of its fitting to the latest trends. 

“It’s fine. You know I have a less than inept sense of style, that’s why I have you.”

“Of course, or you’d trapeze around in only a chemise and a set of drawers,” the maid chuckles, setting the gown back unto the hanger.

“I do find my bloomers to be particularly breezy,” Carol contemplates as she heads to the washroom before breaking into a fit of giggles after a playful gasp leaves Natasha’s lips.

* * *

A heaved sigh leaves Carol as she drops herself onto her vanity chair, leaning into the cushioned backing. 

“To whatever sadist who invented the corset, I wish to write a few choice words,” she grunts while 

“I believe you missed them by a few centuries,” Natasha consoles as she sets out her ivory wide-toothed comb, bristled brush, and hair rat next to a small dish of pins. 

“Give it to the closest descendent then,” Carol maintains, throwing a smile over her shoulder to Natasha as she removed her rag curlers at the back of her head. Carol’s hands go to a work at the front.

“You’ll get to it somewhere between picketing for the vote and masquerading your way into the draft,” grabbing the brush and running over the golden curls, relaxing them into voluminous waves. 

“I am a very busy woman,” Carol concedes as she breaks up the ringlets with her fingers before Natasha passes her the brush while grabbing the comb.

For a few minutes, they work in silence, back brushing the hair and teasing it. Once it sits like a nest of flaxen hay on Carol’s head, Natasha places the rat on her. 

“So,” she drones, firmly holding it to Carol’s head as she takes a pin, opens it slightly with her teeth, then twists it into a section of hair covering the roll.

“So?” Carol winces as the metal scrapes her scalp slightly, the tightness causing an ache around her temples.

“How did this little rendez-vous come about?”

“Did my mother tell you?”

“No, Yelena did. Mary’s _quite_ the church bell.”

“It could simply be pantry-politics.”

“Is it?” Natasha quirks an all-knowing brow, Carol catching the action in the reflection of the mirror.

“Don’t get too swell headed, his parents practically cornered me to go.”

“Oh yes, as if you were _so_ hesitant to go.”

“Please,” she laughs as Natasha finishes pinning the chignon, acting like a bow on a present, “for all I know, he may be a half-hour gentleman, a show-dog.”

“Or he may be just a gentleman,” she offers, leaning onto the vanity lazily.

“I am a promised woman, Miss Romanov! Do you believe me to be fishing for a scandal?” she bridles feignedly, a smile on her lips. 

“Perchance it is all the problem novels I so adore,” reaching into the drawer and grabbing the mahogany box before sliding it shut and holding it out to her charge. 

Carol sighs, taking the small chest into her hands, “this isn’t normally favored for daytime wear.”

“That may be true, but it is favored by you.”

She grins, flipping the small clasp and opening it. She delicately removes the tortoise comb, being especially considerate of its rhinestone star and moon topper, from its soft, midnight blue bed and passes it to Natasha, powerless to disagree. 

Carol was not one for blinding bijoux or gaudy adornments. More commonly than not, she was draped in jewels and pinned with cameo brooches but she loathed jewelry. It tugged on her ears and scrapped the sensitive skin of her neck in a most unpleasant way. The pin was the singular bejeweled piece she had ever bought for herself. Her mother had dragged her shopping one chilled morning in the Upper East Side, something she found about as interesting as finding an embroidery needle on an oriental rug. To pass the time, she would count the brooches and pins in the glass cabinets, it kept her far more sane than counting the minutes they spent at the jewelers. The decorative comb didn’t quite fit with the rest of the collection, considerably avant garde compared to what the other ladies wore. Nonetheless, she was bewitched by the intricacy of the diamond placements and its ability to trap the glimmer of the sky she so loved and had bought it at once. Her mother was helpless to oblige, she was just thrilled at the sight of her usually aloof daughter willingly purchasing something she would normally deem out of her taste. She wore it as much as she could, but such an odd piece was hard to casually sneak into afternoon affairs or aristocratic gatherings, not that societal norms meant anything to her. 

“That’s what I thought,” Natasha boasts, taking the comb and pushing it into the right side of her bun and giving it the slightest twist for security. 

* * *

Carol had been surprised to learn that she would travel to the dock _alone,_ Yon leaving an hour or so before her to raise the sails and such. She wondered why he decided to part before her, but she enjoyed the silence of the drive nonetheless. It was nice to be permitted such freedom of thought and curiosity and spirit, and with such beautiful scenery at that. 

The chauffeur opened the door and helped her from the car when they arrived at Union Boat Club. It was a considerably teeny little boathouse, but that only added to its prestige. 

“Miss Danvers!” a warm voice calls from the main door as she approaches.

“Talos!” Carol cheers, nearly running the last few steps to give him a chaste hug. “How are you, is Soren here? And the little one?”

“Just me today, unfortunately,” he replies, holding the door open for her.

“A shame indeed, I would have loved to see them. How has your season been? How have the Harvard boys been faring?” she asks as they walk to the dock doors. 

“The weather held strong this year so substantially more busy than usual. It seems the Crimson are stronger than ever this year, I think they may even take the regatta.”

“After our gnarly losing streak to Yale? I pray you are not a betting man.”

“You’d bet against your own place of birth? How traitorous!”

“Officially, I’m not a betting woman,” she begins as they step outside onto the deck before dying out to a whisper, leaning in, “unofficially, I’d expect the slimmest win leaning for Harvard. Connecticut has been cold this season, but our Boston boys are known to fall supercilious.”`

“I’ll hold you to that!” he laughs heartily.

“I’m a woman of my word,” she vows as they approach the last dock slot. She spots rustling behind the sails and she calls out, “I do hope my guest did not plague you with too much trouble.”

Almost immediately, Yon’s head pops out from behind the sails with the rest of his body following in tandem. He approaches her wordlessly as she looks down at him from her place on the dock.

“You left me to travel by my lonesome,” she says, twisting her parasol with a lace glove covered hand. 

“I thought you’d appreciate it if I came out early so we could stay out longer, you seemed so fond of the water,” he states, offering out his hands for her.

“How kind,” she replies, coming to the edge and taking them to ensure she wouldn’t fall even as the oakwood became slicker and slicker under her feet. 

Talos holds the rim of the ship, the gentle waves trying to drag it further out into the river. Once she’s close enough, his hands slip from hers and instead they secure around her waist. He lifts slightly and her feet leave the deck, briefly in the air before she lands almost chest to chest with him. It’s probably too close to be considered appropriate, she can nearly connect the dusting of freckles on his face and see the ring of auburn brown in his aurum eyes. 

“Thank you,” she says, smoothing out the crinkles at her waist and pulling her sleeves straight. 

“A true gentleman needs no praise for the actions expected of him,” Yon quotes, a joking smile on his face. Carol laughs.

“You’re catching on.”

Talos unties the rope from the anchor pole, allowing them to drift further into the water. 

“We should be back midafternoon, in time for lunch,” Carol calls as Yon moves to steer and adjust the sails as needed. 

“I’ll be here,” Talos waves. 

The boat rocks as she settles into the apex of the bow. She turns her head happily out to the sea, the crisp winds whipping against her face and the mist of water brushing her cheeks and leaving salt in its wake. For a brief moment, she wonders if she looks like a mermaid figurehead on a pirate ship, serene and stern. She can only hope that means she’s lucky, but she certainly didn’t feel so, slowly marching off to a life of submission and matronly servitude. Her hand skims the water’s surface and the feeling is fleeting and cold. She’s curious if that’s all her life will be, fleeting and cold. So far, it felt as much. 

She sighs. It was only her first sail of the season and here she was, waxing poetic about ships and expectations that would forever go unmet. She’d hate to see herself by August. 

“You are bricky, Miss Danvers,” Yon comments as he sits on the bench beside her, adjusting his rolled up blouse sleeves, his jacket long discarded.

“And why might that be?” she deflects as she turns around to face him, tucking herself into the tip of the bow comfortably.

“You lean out of a ship, land a good mile away, and wear enough cloth to sink a steamship,” he elaborates with a certain lightness that tells her he’s jesting her. 

“You’d be surprised how strong a swimmer I am.”  
  


“Learned from experience did you?” he investigates with a teasing cock of his brow.

“Yes actually,” she stands up abruptly, patting the tip of the boat, “slipped over while trying to get a better view of a fish.” Moving to the right side, she brushes the top of the wall with light fingertips, she adds “I sat here and fell in after we hit an especially nasty wave,” then finally reaching the back, using her umbrella to gesture with unenthusiastic grandeur, “and then jumped off the stern, just for fun.”

“And just how recent were these excursions?” he chuckles and she drops herself next to him, pressing the tip of her parasol into the floor and leaning her chin onto its handle.

“I suppose more recent than one would come to believe,” she mumbles, enjoying the sunlight on her face like a farm cat in a field.

He stretches an arm onto the rim, “seems a bit perilous.”

“I cannot change the expectations and limitations bound to my sex and I certainly will not be controlled by them,” Carol declared. “I surmise you could understand.”

“How it feels to unceremoniously crash into bodies of water?”

She smiles with a slight pout, “how it feels to defy the limitations of normality. It’s not everyday you see a rich man in uniform who didn’t buy their way to the top.”

“How do you know I didn’t?” Yon asks honestly, his eyes taking purchase on her own.

“You don’t fit the presumption.”

“And what’s that?”

“Haughty, insincere, eager for glory yet ignorant to the effort.”

“Joining the Navy was not where my father hoped his eldest would start out, I can assure you that,” he recounts as he reaches to his coat, fishing a silver flask from his pocket. He offers the first drag to her.

She eyes it carefully before taking it from him, “whiskey?”

He shakes his head, “gin.”

She hums, unscrewing the top and taking a swig. It’s warm, but the ripeness of the juniper berries still dances on her tongue and the bite of pine nips at her taste buds. She passes it off to him and he takes a draw.

“I have one of my own you know,” she relates. “Tinier though. It has to fit with the skirts.”

“I’m glad not to be beset with such a hindrance.”

“So,” she continues lazily, “what possessed you to join?”

He contemplates the question, turning the silver canister in his hand, “the former admiral of his Majesty's Royal Navy retired in the same town I grew up in. Most of us were well-to-do, raised with old money in luxury. But he had come from nothing and seen so much, _done_ so much for a nation he loved, for people he would never know, and it made him different than anyone else I had ever known. He was wise and had integrity, an honorable man of high moral standing and high work ethic. I suppose I respected him, admired him even, and the experiences that shaped him. He earned his worth, his life, his place in the world and I wanted to do the same.”

“Life with the grunts couldn’t have been easy,” she pushes, prodding his arm with the tip of her umbrella. He yanks it from her with a laugh, Carol pouts at the loss.

“No, neither were the initial weeks at sea. God were they awful.”

“I’m assuming most of the boys didn’t have their sea legs?”

“You could say that,” he smiles, taking another swig from the flask. “And you? What festers a fascination with the sea in a girl like you?”

“It’s more of a fascination with the sky,” she replies, sticking her hand out and skimming the blowing air.

“It’s fair to assume you’ve heard of the brothers in Kitty Hawk then?”

She hums in agreement, “the Wright Brothers are men of the future. I hope to be the first lady to ride the skies.”

“I don’t see the relationship to the sea,” Yon says, passing her the flask.

“Sailing is the closest thing I have to flying.” She takes another drink, her nose wrinkling slightly at the bitter taste.

Yon gives her a quizzical look and she sighs, turning her face back to the water and urging him to do the same.

“Have you ever had the most perfect sailing conditions? Bright, breezy, perfectly still water, not a cloud in the sky?” she questions abruptly, her hair coming loose from the tossing of the wind. From the corner of her eye, she sees him nod. “Well, when the air is just right, the sails catch a particular wind and they create a certain wonderous pace. The sunshine glints and on crystal clear water, the most clear reflections are made and you can’t tell where the water ends and the sky begins. Then, all of sudden,” she plants both feet on the ground and grabs his hands, forcing him to stand with her. Carol closes her eyes and spreads their arms open to the world, briefly she savors the sensation, “you’re flying.” After a moment her eyes open and catch his, such a wonderful shade of honey gold and shining with investment and entrancement, she mumbles, “just like that.” 

A wave slaps against the sides and she gasps, feeling her footing slip and she can only think how vexed her mother is going to be when she comes back sopping wet and missing a shoe again. She slams into something hard, but it’s most certainly not water. It’s firm, but warm, and she feels oddly secure with the gentle grip on her waist. 

With a blush, she pulls away from his chest and looks up at him, he catches her in his gaze and mutters, “can’t have a woman of the sky crashing back to Earth, can we?”

She’s enchanted by him, a mermaid caught in his net, a bird in his cage. A long row boat comes into view housing a familiar mop of auburn curls in a scarlet H sweater is the only thing that clears the fuzziness from her brain. 

She jerks to place her hands on the rails and leans over, her own voice loud and straining on her ears after the gentleness of their _flight_ , “Peter Parker!”

The boy’s head snaps and his hands loosen from their death-grip on his paddle. He gives a toothy grin and a messy, enthusiastic wave, “nice to see you Miss Danvers!” 

“I pray you bring the harbor home a win!”

He gives an uncoordinated salute before a bark of his name by his coxswain sends his hands back to the wooden paddle, pumping the water and slowly sinking out of sight.

“A friend of yours?” Yon asks, settling beside her to watch the skyline.

“I know his Godparents, the Starks.”

“The engineers?” 

  
She nods, “Anthony Stark went to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, so he’s very fond of the area. Hell certainly froze over when Peter decided to attend Harvard.”

“What does he have to win?”  
  


“The Harvard-Yale Regatta, the most infamous rivalry in the States.” She breaks out into a Cheshire smile before adding on, “well, perhaps after the American-English rivalry that is.”

“We don’t need to start a war,” he teases back, “we _certainly_ know who would prevail.”

“As long as it’s not Yale!” Carol chortles, nudging him with her elbow. “You’ll have to be my guest, one has not experienced Boston until they have witnessed a Charles regatta.”

“I’d be honored to find myself in such pleasant company,”

“And I am pleasant company?” she inquires, her brow quirked in challenge and eyes ablaze with confidence.

“Most definitely different company, Miss Danvers.”

“Call me Carol,” she says, throwing back the last of the gin before handing him back the empty jug.

The corner of his lip curls, “if you’ll call me Yon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you and your loved ones are all staying safe during this insane time! Hopefully you enjoyed this chapter. Please feel free to give me some feedback. Writing in this style is certainly not my forte, so I’d love to know how I’m doing.


	3. Terras Irradient

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's title is the motto of Amherst College, "let them give light to the world."

Clobbering down the stairs with clunky steps, Carol draws the shawl covering her midnight blue wrapper closer to her body. Mornings by the sea were always variable, swinging from humid heats to breezy chills like a pendulum. Today started on the cooler end which indicated a day to be set fair from her previous experiences. 

Everyone else was already seated at the table and had already begun breakfast, save for her parents which would protect her from being keelhauled. With a large yawn, she takes her place beside Mary and Joe. 

“Good morning,” she sighs as she settles into her seat. 

“How thoughtful of you to join us,” Mary forces a smile as she wipes William’s chin while leaning over and whispering, “It’s nearly a quarter to nine!”

“I was suffering from heat exhaustion, the sun was considerably bright yesterday afternoon,” she fibs while gratefully taking a mug of tea from Yelena with a thankful nod. “Where are mother and father?”

“They had some matters to attend to in Brookline,” Joseph replies as he grabs a roll from the basket. 

“Did you rest well, Miss Danvers?” Ivy inquires politely, her hands folded into her lap.

“Very, thank you. I hoped you found the guest lodgings satisfactory,” she states and adds an extra lump of sugar into her cup for good measure. 

“Oh yes, our room had the most lovely view of the skyline.”

“I personally far prefer the view from the North balcony,” Carol turns her head to Yon, who sat diligently by his parents, as she pops a blackberry into her mouth from her fork, “isn't it spectacular, Mr. Rogg?”

He tries to keep his face neutral, but she doesn’t miss the slight quirk of his lip, “it is rather expansive.”

For a few minutes, everyone settles into a comfortable silence as they eat, the scratchy sound of scraping silverware on china dishes the only sound. 

“So,” Joseph begins as he sips at his coffee, “do you have anything you’d like to do today? There is still ample time before the opening gala.”

“What would you recommend?” Vern Rogg asks.

“There’s the most incredible art museum in Fenway,” Mary provides with exaggerated enthusiasm before chastising William for moving his food around his plate.

Carol chuckles as she grabs a raspberry popover from the basket to her “I am most certain they’d like to see something more distinct to the area.” 

“What would you suggest, Miss Danvers?” Yon asks methodically as to prevent the idea of being abandoned by the heavy hand of her family. 

“M Street Beach is always lively this time of year.”

“I’m sure the Rogg’s would prefer to do something a bit more cultured and refined, Carol,” Mary insists but Carol doesn’t miss the venom buried in her voice as she kicks her under the table with a heeled foot. 

Carol, not being one to be outdone, kicks her back with just as much fervor with an innocent smile, “it’s plenty refined! The waters are clear, the coastline clean, and the trails purely beguiling. Not to mention Willie needs to add more shells to his collection. You’re still looking for a sand dollar aren’t you?”

The boy nods his head with excitement, babbling to his father as he grabs desperately at his lapels as his mother tries helplessly to hush him.

“I think a day on the beach would be nice,” Steven supports, earning him an unamused glare from his wife.

“What a splendid change of scenery, don’t you agree?” Ivy urges her son.

“I surmise Miss Danvers’ glowing laudation to be a trustworthy source.”

She gives him a waggish grin, “I’ll have the kitchen pack us a picnic lunch.”

* * *

As predicted, the crisp morning morphed into a tepid day. The sand was warm, but not molten, and the sun, while bright, was not beating harshly on her pale skin. Carol was thoroughly pleased with herself. She had been able to spin the circumstances in her favor and make a day of it: lounging on a throw with, reading to her heart's content in the shade of her rain napper. The only way it could have been improved upon was if she had been able to fashion a pair of knickerbockers like she did when she came alone, but she wouldn’t edge on her family more than she already had at breakfast. She wouldn’t complain, she would take what she can.

“You're hindering my reading light,” Carol comments, her eyes looking up past the edge of her book to glance at the newfound obstruction. She just hoped it wasn’t Joe, he always detested her taste in literature.

“Excuse my mistake, _Carol,_ ” Yon says as he towers over her.

“ _Commander,”_ Carol purrs comically as she snugs her brass bookmark onto her page before snapping it shut.

“I thought we came to an agreement that you would call me Yon.”  
  


“Well then _Yon,_ what have you brought me,” she asks eyeing the small cloth bag in his hand, “tribute?”

“Of sorts,” he replies, passing her the tote slyly.

Throwing him a grin, she opens the bag and glances inside. Her grin widens when she sees an array of goods inside: frosted eclairs, a glass bottle of sparkling limonade with a set of glasses, grapes, cheese, and pecans.

“I find it satisfactory,” she concludes with a nod as she takes her books and places them into her basket. Once a space is made on her quilt, she pats it invitingly. “Sit,” Carol demands while unpacking the food.

Yon follows her instruction, settling onto the fabric. He takes the crystal glasses and fills them.

“What is occupying the others?” she asks as she sips at her drink before grabbing a chocolate eclair. 

“They’re engaged in a ruthless game of croquet,” he explains, favoring a vanilla eclair for himself.

“Oh?” Carol replies, her eyebrows jumping in amusement. “Did you leave before Joseph started cursing?”

He laughs, “I presume I must have.”

“Lucky chap you are, he can get quite crass.”

“Even over a meager croquet match?”

“Especially over a meager croquet match!” She chuckles, “He’s fiercely competitive, my brother. I can only imagine poor little William is getting slaughtered.”

“He wouldn’t forfeit even for his own nephew?” Yon asks bewildered, leaning his weight on his arms behind him. 

“Oh no, not Joe. If my decades spent by his side serve as any example, he would use it as a lesson to teach him the importance ‘sufferance’ and ‘perseverance,’” Carol mutters with dry, unamused sarcasm. “That boy acts as though he’s lived through hardship when he’s been served hand and foot. For God’s sake, he has his breakfast served on a silver platter!” Lord, did she wish her drink was spiked, talking about this gave her a headache. 

“If it’s any consolation, I’m fairly certain he was trailing my father when I left,” Yon offers while simultaneously filling her empty glass. 

The only thing that muffles her chuckling is the food in her mouth, but she still feels her eyes wrinkle at the comical irony. 

“So,” he drags, “you have had your nose in the books then?”

“Better than my head in the sand I’d say,” she quips, earning her a warm smile.

“May I?” he inquires with a nod to her basket, a question of consent to see with what she had been amusing herself. 

“You may.”

Yon takes the book on top first and smiles when he reads the cursive lettering on the auburn cover, “your one for controversy I see.’

She gasps in hyperbolized offense, “what would ever give you such a far-fetched idea?”

“If my memory holds true, _Wuthering Heights_ created quite the ruckus when it was published. I’m surprised that copies are still sold after all this time, the critics might as well have just ripped the thing to shreds.”

“The critics be damned, all they do is footle. They’re simply stupified by a lady who writes of vulgarity and savagery rather than romance and bashful attraction,” she huffs.

“I rather enjoyed the novel as well actually,” he responds coyly while he scratches the back of his neck, “I found the horror to be an utterly brilliant use of imagery on the part of Brontë.”

“It is utterly haunting isn’t it?” she remarks while leaning towards him with invigorated excitement, “ and the confusion she creates by naming Catherine’s _daughter_ Catherine while mimicking the same moral dilemmas and tragedy? Genius!”

“And Nelly serves as a wonderful, warm character, albeit an entirely unreliable narrator,” he adds, setting the book back into the basket. 

Carol leans back onto her arms and concludes, “you're a man of impeccable taste.”

Yon hums in passive acknowledgment as he reaches for the hefty turquoise leather-bound copy, turning it in his hands.

“Emily Dickinson?” he comments puzzled, opening the cover to skim his eyes over the contents inside.

“She was a local poet from Amherst, just a short ride from here. Not too famed, but I find her writings to be sensational.”

Heis gaze continues to skim the worn pages, flickering over the words in quick succession, “which is your favorite?”

She gently takes the book from his grasp while commenting, “I find one particularly endearing,” as she flips through the pages to locate the poem. Once she flips onto the correct page titled longing, she hums and hands back to him, “here.”

He takes the book from her and perches it against the thigh of his bent leg. With smoky vibrato, he reads the sonnets aloud, “Longing is like the seed, that wrestles in the ground, believing if it intercede, it shall at length be found. The hour and the zone, each circumstance unknown, what constancy must be achieved-” 

“Before it see the sun!” Carol finishes while popping a grape into her mouth. 

He hums when he finishes and looks up to meet her eyes, “I yield to your stance. Her scheme is quite peculiar but distinctly remarkable.”

“It’s a blasted shame she passed before her writings were published, I would have loved to met her,” Carol laments, looking out to the water. “Although I did hear she was rather reclusive so I’m not sure how that would have fared.” 

“So your opposite then?” he teases, following her gaze out to the sea, a few seagulls fighting over some scraps. 

She nudges him gently with her hand, “I enjoy some time couped now and then, I just find more beauty to be discovered out there,” she explains gesturing with her hands to the sky.

“They often say art imitates life,” Yon elaborates, turning back to face her. “Does your ‘circumstance unknown’ lie out there? What are you longing for, Carol?”

There’s no need for contemplation to find her answer. Her whole life, she had been eagerly craving the same thing.

“Adventure,” she declares, conviction swimming in her hazel eyes as she meets his gaze, “excitement.”

“Where?” he queries, sincerity laced between each syllable.

“Anywhere the pursuit leads me,” she answers nonchalantly, watching rainbows of light reflect off the carved crystal as she turns her glass in her hand, “new lands, the endless canals of Italy, the snowy slopes of Switzerland, the swooping valleys of India, the echoing castles of England.”

“You’ve never been to England?” puzzles Yon.

“I've never crossed domestic lines,” she clarifies, tucking a stray golden curl from her braid behind her ear. “The furthest I’ve voyaged to is Chicago. Why?” the fact seemed to particularly perplex him.

“Your father and brothers make the trip so often and the few times I’ve made their acquaintance, I never saw them without their wives. I would have thought you would have accompanied them.” 

“Yet, have we ever met before?” she quips with a sharp quirk of her brow and snag of her lip.

“I came to the assumption that the timing never came together,” he explains.

“A misjudgment,” she mumbles, “no, I was never allowed to follow.”

“So they just left you behind?” a chaste nod confirms his question, “why?”

“Because I was too old to be bound to my mother’s hip and not useful enough to be an asset to any of them,” she picks at the lace of her dress awkwardly, “the only argument I had was that I could occupy William, but that didn’t hold any substance since they hired a live-in nanny, Wanda.”

“It must have been lonely,” he observes sadly, bothered by the idea of her family’s abandonment. He knew the length of the Danvers’ stays overseas and they were never fleeting.

She shrugs her shoulder, placing her finicky hand into her lap as to still her nerves, “it wasn’t all for not, I suppose…”

He tilts his head slightly in curiosity, “how so?”

She sighs, falling onto her back lazily. She doesn’t reply, only lifts her hand a fraction of an inch off her stomach to use her fingers to hither him closer. To hear her tale, he’d have to be on her level. He doesn’t hesitate to mimic her, lying next to her with his arms folded behind his head which was slightly tilted so he could look at her and display his attentiveness.

“When my parents would go on their excursions and leave me in New York, they didn’t just leave me aimless. They wanted me to develop ‘refined skills’ so they decided that I required a governess to teach me such ways. The summer of my ninth year, Wendy Lawson arrived at my doorstep. I still remember her with her with a big trunk that had to be carried in by the busboys and a smaller parcel luggage. I assumed her supplies would be in the case and her clothes and such in the chest, but then she requested the trunk be left in the study. She unlatched it and there must have been a hundred books in there, a compact library!” she laughs at the memory of herself nearly diving into the trunk to grab at the titles. “There wasn’t an embroidery hoop, a needle, a set of watercolors, in the whole thing, not even a stitch of fabric. For the next half-decade or so, she fed my curiosity. She taught me astronomy and mathematics, smuggled me literature from Charlotte Perkins Gilman and Kate Chopin. I did have to learn French and Latin as my mother is fluent in both, but we used to go to the market on Sundays and buy prints and stitchings that I could pass off as my own when my parents returned home. To this day, my mother thinks I sewed the floral pillow on the yellow chaise in the parlor room. I actually bought it from the sweetest woman down in Chelsea. She spent every moment with me and eventually became my sole chaperone, a mother of sorts. When I was a bit older, she insisted that I apply to Wellesley. I had been bashful but she refused to allow me to be so and for months we perfected my application and portfolio. When I got my stamped letter, we jumped around like children, we must have looked quite off our chump,” she smiles fondly before pointing abruptly to the sky, “and that looks like a ship.”

He breaks out guffawing at the notion and the oddness of it, pointing to the same cloud before arguing, “you must be seeing unclearly, that is plainly a horse!”

“How so?” she dares, squinting to try and perceive it in his light.

He takes her pointing hand and dragging it to outline the cloud, “see that’s the mane and there’s the saddle.”

She vehemently shakes her head, taking his hand and doing the same, “no, no, no!! Those are the sails and that’s the helm, you’re a sailor, you should recognize it!”

They laugh for a few more moments while looking at each other, before he asks as his chuckles die down, “did you enjoy your time at Wellesley?”

Carol’s smile falls and she trains her gaze hard on the sky above her once again, “I didn’t go.”

His mouth falls agape in confusion and his eyes dart to her, “but you were so thrilled to get in?”

She breaks into a small voice, “I wanted to go, I really did. When my parents arrived back from a trip to Spain with my brothers, I had bombarded them at the door. I was bouncing with glee, a true g’hal,” she barks out a dry, insincere laugh remembering her cheer. “I all but threw my treatise at them, babbling like a bee. I had allowed that they would understand my yearnings, that they would see my potential.”

Yon hesitates, feeling the impending dread build throughout her tale, the happiness only fleeting. After a minute, he cautions, “and?”

Carol’s eyes clench shut, reliving the moment physically paining her soul. Her throat constricts and she has to swallow down the knot like jagged shards of glass. Finally, with her voice hollow, she laments, “my father took my dissertation and skimmed the first page. He crossed the room, he had always been in the habit of pacing while reading so I thought none the more of it. It was winter, a fire had been going in the sitting room. He settled himself beside it and without a second glance, he tossed it in. I still remember rushing over and falling to my knees, praying I could salvage even a page but it was all for not. In a single moment, _months_ of hard work, _hundreds_ of calculations, _thousands_ of words all became fire tinder. He ripped me from my place gripping the guard rail and told me that the very fact I had applied was preposterous but the very thought that I, a Danvers daughter, would be permitted to attend? Entirely ludicrous. He was _spatting_ mad, I had never seen him angrier, I still haven’t to this day. I was _plumb_ wrecked.”

She hadn’t even noticed her fingers had twisted themselves into the quilt until Yon’s hand covers her own and his voice soft, trying to console her, “Carol-”

“Pile on the agony,” she cuts him off, “I had inadvertently exposed what Lawson had taught me, that she had been filing my head with _balderdash._ I had been sent to my quarters for the rest of the day, but when I woke the next morning, she was gone. They had fired and expelled her from the house promptly, even docked her last set of wages. I didn’t even get to say _goodbye_. I tried wretchedly to track her down. By the time I did, it was too late. She had died of typhoid, alone in a teeming Gotham hospital.” Trying to save face even slightly, she chokes out thickly, “and tha-that one there is an - an elephant.”

For some minutes, they lie side by side in oddly comfortable silence. The air between them heavier yet lighter, intense yet trusting. 

“For what it’s worth,” he begins quietly, “Wellesley would have been honored to house your wit.”

She turns to him, giving him a grateful smile and squeezing his shoulder in unspoken thanks, then turning back to cloud gaze.

“Where would you go first?”

“Hmm?” she hums. 

  
  


“Where would you go first on your travels if you could go anywhere?” he clarifies folding his hands onto his stomach. 

“Well, I suppose I would start with the obvious places like Paris or _London,”_ she waggles her brows at the mention of his homestead, “then work myself across the globe to every corner of the world. A wonderful dream isn’t it?”

He shakes his head, “it won’t always be a dream.”

“And how can you know such a thing?” she probes while lifting herself onto her arms to stare at him, “are you a fortune-teller? A psychic?”

“No,” he smiles at her, “just a sailor with an inkling.”

* * *

Carol moans brushing out the knots in her hair. The wind had done a number on her tresses, tossing them wildly and nesting it. The door creaks and she jerks her head before sighing in relief.

“Oh thank the heavens! Natasha save me from my own hands!” 

“I told you to wear the silk scarf, not the cotton wrap, for a reason,” she chastises while setting the basket of laundry on her cushioned ottoman. 

“It was so long!” Carol whines, holding out the comb to her savior. 

“Did you leave something outside?” Natasha asks while reaching for a vile of oil to relax the tangles from her hair. 

“Not that I know of, why?”

“This was outside your door,” she replies, grabbing a package wrapped in muslin and tied with twine. 

Curiously, her hands work the bow loose, easing the muslin covering. She unfolds the cloth to reveal a red-covered novel. She flips the work to read it’s spine.

_‘A Tale of Two Cities?’_

Opening the book, she spots a note etched in deep blue ink tucked between the front cover and the first page. 

_Until you find yourself in London and Paris - Yon_

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, it is 3am and I just want to get this out so apologies if this is garbage. Might change some stuff in the morning if I look back and see some of it was written in sleep-deprived psychosis. Don't forget to leave those comments and kudos! They're what keeps me going ;) Love you all, goodnight!


	4. Semper Fidelis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Always Faithful”
> 
> -
> 
> Please note, I made a few small changes to last chapters because I realized there may be some tiny contradictions so rereading could be beneficial. Honestly though, they’re super negligible and I’m only editing them because if I didn’t, it would drive me crazy knowing I had inconsistencies.

“So one of your subordinates was so blatantly guttered that he Virginia fenced right-off the deck?” Carol giggles while twisting her hand further into her skirts and hiking them up higher as to keep the fabric safe from the licking waves at her ankles

“Bron is certainly a lively soul, but he could down old orchard until his back teeth swim,” Yon contributes, his loafers held together by intertwined laces and slung over his shoulder

“You did go back for him?” Carol asks slyly, swaying her shoes with each step she took, her hosiery tucked safely into the vamps of her heeled boots.

He nudges her at the subtle notion of abandoning him, grinning, “of course! We let him paddle around in the drink for a few minutes though. He was quite pleased with himself in fact, the heat had been unpalatable that night to say the least.”

“What did he say when you finally fished him out?” 

“Can we stop at a bucket shop for some more ale?”

She slaps his arm with her shoes, “oh he did not!”

“You’re right. What he said was, ‘you ass-backwards bastards, back to the bar for another pint!’”

A roar of laughter leaves her lips at the cuss-laden quote, “that is certainly a fine alliteration.”

“I admit my interpretation may be a bit loose, most of it was prattled and slurred so terribly it barely sounded like English.” 

  
  


“I cannot even imagine how he must have suffered after such a bender, dear God,” she moans as she wipes the beads of sweat dripping down her forehead with the back of her hand. The coolness of the water on her feet was refreshing, but certainly not enough to quench her. 

“I can say the sea was not kind to him that twilight nor that morning, the waves rattled us quite brutally,” he trails off when he notices his company has disappeared behind him and turns to eye her. “What are you doing?”

Carol’s head jerks at the question, stalling in her work of drawing tufts of her skirt up her legs in one hand while attempting to tie the cluster with the scarf from her hair with the other. 

“If I don’t cool off soon, I’ll be puddling on the sand!” she whines with a pout as he approaches her, “I have to wade further in. Will you follow?”

“If you allow me to tie this, your knots are atrocious,” he assures as he takes the wrap from her hand, leaving her to hold the mass of fabric.

“Forgive me for lacking your superior skills in ship knots, Commander,” she taunts rascally looking up at him from beneath her lashes.

He stops his work momentarily to look down at her with a grin, “well then, you have yourself a large gap of knowledge to fill.”

She challenges him back with a smile of her own, “I am your humble student.”

“You mean cadet,do you not?” he corrects going back to his tying, settling on knotting the skirts at her midthigh, exposing the smallest hint of lace-edged drawers. His fingers drag against her bare skin raising more goosebumps than the cold water nipping at her toes could ever hope to muster up.

“If you’ll have me,” she agrees, only adding on an uncoordinated salute when straightens himself out in front of her, “ _ sir _ .”

Carol doesn’t miss the way his face flushes at the name before throwing a hand on his shoulder to urge him on, “come on! Roll up your trousers, I’d like to take a dip before candle-light.” 

He shakes it off and salutes her back, leaning to follow her command. She plucks his shoes from his shoulder and drops their respective pairs together onto a dry patch on the beach. Once he pulls them up to his knees, Carol grabs his hands and pulls him forward impatiently, wandering closer to the shore backwards. She only slows and rights herself when she feels wetness under the soles of her feet. As she squares her shoulders to run head first into the water, a snaking warmth and weight working it’s way around her arm impedes her. A hot blush builds on her cheeks as she looks at their interlocked arms before her eyes dart upwards to stare at him dumbly.

“Waves can be deceivingly powerful and pull even the most experienced sailors into the undertow. It would clear my conscious to know that I kept you close-“ 

“For safety?” She elaborates, her voice barely above a murmur, her eyes flickering over his face.

“Of course,” he replies, his voice husky as his strong gaze finds her own, “for safety.”

  
  


She knows that they won’t be even five feet from shore and the water is flatter than the plains of Kansas on this bright midday, but she keeps all those clear observations between her and God. Carol wonders if he is attempting to fool himself as well as her, but it matters little to her. She wants to indulge him so she does, perhaps indulges herself even more when her fingers secure themselves onto his strong bicep.  _ For safety,  _ she assures herself

“Lead the way,” she hums. 

They begin their trek into the water, arm in arm. Carol hisses at the initial sting of frigid pins and needles on her shins. 

“I thought you said you would welcome the chill?” Yon teases as he holds her closer.

“In due time,” she replies as she digs her fingers in deeper, crossing the sand made uneven with its littering of tiny shells. 

They move a bit further until the water grazes the tops of her knees. The blunt gelidness was now replaced with a pleasing coolness such that a calmed sigh leaves her lips. Leaving her hand on his arm, she dares to stretch out just a tad further and hums happily as she grazes her fingertips on the surface of the water.

After a moment, she whirls around to look at him and remarks, “see? Far better.”

He laughs and approaches her, “my brothers and I would do this every morning on our summer escapades in Normandy.”

She crosses her arms and inches closer to him, “feeling wistful are we?”

“Perhaps if you tried drowning me, we were never so peaceful.”

She notices his loosened blouse sleeve coming dangerously close to the water and closes the distance between them. Her hands are gentle and tender as she works to roll the fabric up and out of harm's way. “I cannot imagine your reserved self acting in such a manner nor your next of kin.”

“It is inevitable, with three boys so close in age, to be constantly plagued by disorder. Nonetheless, it played to my benefit. I was the strongest swimmer in our division during the entirety of my service.”

Carol’s eyebrow raises in amusement, “plenty of experience I assume?” 

“More than sufficient I assure. We used to play a game where we tossed a lead sinker into the water and retrieve it from the bottom; I never lost a game of retrieval. I have to allow we did more fetching during our contests than our dog ever did hunting.”

“Grady, wasn’t it?” Carol recalls, looking up to him. She remembers him telling her about their family dog who was sorely inept in hunting badgers but incredibly fine at knocking his younger brothers right off their wobbly feet.

A smile creeps onto his face, warmed that she recounted the small detail he had told nights previous, “yes, Grady.”

“Well, I certainly will not  _ drown _ you,” Carol drawls, moving backwards, “however, I do think I could make the experience a hair more authentic.”

“Do you? Pray tell, what is your plan-“ he persuades before breaking out into a surprised huff as pellets of cold water hit his chest, looking to Carol agape.

The perpetuator flutters her eyes innocently as if she was oblivious to the watery attack she had just engaged. “I surmised I could incite your reminiscence by giving you a good spla-“ she says demurely before being rudely interrupted by a similar wave being thrust her way, laughing as she narrowly jerks out of the water’s reach.

“Do you not wish to relive the moment with me?” Yon jokes, inching closer to make the choice for her.

Her laughter bellows louder. “Perchance,  _ if _ you can catch me,” she states, sending another splash his way as she makes her languid escape.

“I believe you mean  _ when _ , Miss,” he corrects, trailing her and beginning his own assault.

As she wades heavily through the water, Carol sends another set of splashes in Yon’s direction. Wiser this time, he predicts the onset and jocks to his left to avoid it, continuing to chase her. The pattern seems to continue throughout their fight, Carol incites, Yon dodges and responds, Carol dodges and then it all starts over again.

“For being trapped in so many skirts, you're quite hard to catch,” Yon calls.

As she moves, she turns to throw a playful smile over her shoulder at him, “a talent of sorts!”

“Auntie Carol!”

Perhaps if Yon was not such an alert man, he would have run straight into her back when she suddenly stalls, tossing them both into the water, but such was not the case. He skids but catches himself, stopping a breath behind her and following Carol’s gaze to the shore. 

Her feet start moving frantically before the words can even leave her mouth, “Monica, Maria!”

The drag of the ocean is no match for her excitement and only slightly slows her in voyage to shore. The water is forced to splash around her as hammers through the small waves, grazing the drooping edge of her skirt. Even as she feels so unbalanced, her arms straight out at her sides to attempt and steady herself, she does not hesitate to move faster. The very moment her feet hit dry sand, she breaks out into a sprint to meet them. The girl aids her, running to meet her half way and readily jumping into Carol’s open arms.

“My Monica!” she coos while brushing a few of her beautiful, stray curls covering her eyes and placing a kiss to her forehead, “look how you’ve grown, nearly to my shoulders you are!”

“Papa said I grew a whole three inches!” Monica replies happily, squeezing her tighter.

  
  


She takes Monica by her shoulders to look down at her with exaggerated surprise. “Only three? Surely at least five!” Carol argues earning her a wide, toothy grin.

Maria sighs out of breath as she finally makes it to greet her friend, “do not take my languidness as sloth and aloofness, we hired a new maid and she has a nasty tendency to tie corsets sinfully tight.”

Carol smiles at the sight of the other woman, “never.” Keeping an arm around Monica, she draws Maria into a warm hug. “You wrote you couldn’t make it this year!”

“Well, after talking with Robert, we found no reason Monica and I had to stay behind for the season if only because of the dinner with the French diplomat. He is without children or a wife so it seemed our presence was unnecessary. We only booked our tickets last week, so you must forgive my tardiness.”

“How did you know where to find me?” Carol had been very careful not to mention where she was, nor especially whom she was with. 

“I was told you were at Faneuil Hall,” Maria provides swiftly. Carol nods, that explains it then. Quite honestly, she couldn’t truly recall the last time she truly stepped foot in the marketplace. Many times during their youth had they toted plans to window shop while having the full intention to gaze at the shoreline instead.

As they break away from their embrace, a sly smile creeping onto Maria’s face and her gloved fingers gesturing behind Carol, “it seems you are previously engaged.” 

Carol turns around to see a composed as ever Yon taking the last few paces forward to join the intimate party, a set of shoes in each hand.

“You are a worthy addition to be sure,” Carol assures, poking the little girl’s cheek to release a string of giggles.

“Do you plan to introduce us or are we forever to be strangers?” Yon teases, finally settling close beside Carol.

She huffs before pouting, “you are aware impatience is considered unbecoming?”

“At least he is in similar company,” Maria chides, her daughter snickering at the slide.

Carol gives her an exasperated, yet jestful, gaze before sighing and gesturing to the woman, “this is my good friend Mrs. Maria Rambeau and her daughter Miss Monica Rambeau. They hail from Baton Rouge with her husband Robert. Maria, Monica, this is Mr Yon Rogg. He and his family are staying with my family this season on business from London.”

Yon bows slightly, “Mrs. Rambeau, it is always a pleasure to meet one of Miss Danvers’ acquaintances. Louisiana is incredibly far, I do hope you found your trip comfortable.”

Maria curtsies to him in response, “It was, thank you, although I feel I should be the one to hope as such. England is considerably farther!”

Yon huffs a laugh at the notion before turning his attention to the youngest among them. Settling on his knee, he lowers his head in greeting, “Miss Rambeau, I do hope your afternoon is proceeding most well.”

Her big brown eyes stare at him with wonder, as if he was not of this world, breaking out into a hundred thousand rambled questions, “have you been to the Big Bell? Or Buckingham Palace-“

“Monica,” her mother warns, straightening her pink bonnet, “what do you say first?”

“Oh!” she yelps, reminded of her lack of proper greeting. Curtsying haphazardly, she babbles, “Honored to meet you sir. Would you please tell me,  _ have you been to the Great Bell? Or Buckingham Palace? Have you met the King?!” _

“Still as curious as ever I see,” Carol choruses, untying her mass of skirts and letting them waterfall down her legs back into place.

“I’ll tell you what,” Yon says, casting the child a warm gaze, “I will answer all of your questions, but let us move somewhere a bit more suitable for discussion shall we? Do you like biscuits?”

“Cakes are more my favor!” Monica beams, her hands clasped together at the very thought of savoring a slice of marbled spice and chocolate cake.

He chuckles at the preference as he rises from his knee, “cakes then, my treat.”

“I believe I may know the perfect place,” Carol chirps, plucking her shoes from his hands. 

* * *

The bell chimes as they walk through the double doors of the tiny bakery. A young woman with long, brunette braids trailing down her back slumped lazily over the front counter comes to attention at the sound.

She immediately brightens once her eyes fall on her new patron and moves to approach them, ecstatically calling out in her thick French accent, “Miss Danvers!”

Carol smiles and brings her into a loose embrace, kissing each of her cheeks, “Miss Dubois, I do hope you have found your new quarters most agreeable!”

Miss Dubois moves to do the same, “Oh yes, they have fit our needs wonderfully. The price is more than affordable and the facilities are truly subzero, thank you for penning the landlord on our behalf. Forgive us for taking up your time. Truly, without your letter-“ 

“Not another word,” Carol silences gently while planning a tender gloved hand on her shoulder, “it was an honor to help your family in their time of need, certainly not a hassle, and I require no such thanks for it.”

The woman blushes and nods bashfully before asking, “would you like me to fetch my mother? I know she would be so warmed to see you.”

“Of course!”

The brunette turns abruptly and pulls the thick lilac curtain back so she can holler into the kitchen, “Maman, venez-ici! Mademoiselle Danvers est là!”

Pots and pans clack and clash and in a flash, a boisterous older woman dusted in flour and draped in an apron appears in the doorway. 

“Oh la la! Mademoiselle Danvers, Comment allez vous, ma chère?” the elder Dubois woman exclaims, pulling her into a tight hug and plastering two large kisses on her rosy cheeks.

Carol chortles, “je vais fantastique, Madame Dubois.”

The older woman releases her only to take her strongly and squarely by her shoulders, “Est-ce que vos parents vont bien? Et vos frères? Comment vont-ils?”

“Tout le monde va très bien,” Carol assures with a curt nod. 

“Oh, ca rend mon cœur tres heureux!” Mrs.Dubois sings, brushing her hands on to her cotton smock. “Est-ce que vous avez faim?”

“Oui. Mon amie ici voudrait un tranche de gâteau d’épices,” she explains pulling Monica closer by here shoulder.

“Bien sûr!” She agrees enthusiastically, pinching the young girl’s cheek. 

The mother turns to her daughter, barking out a few commands causing the girl to jump to her feet and move deeper into the restaurant, urging them forward .

“Some more friends of yours?” Yon asks with a knowing quirk of his lip.

“Haven’t you noticed yet?” Monica asks bewildered, “Auntie Carol is friends with everyone!”

Carol rolls her eyes at the statement as she sits in the chair Yon pulled out for her, “the Dubois family hail from Angers and originally immigrated to New York City where they ran a small pâtisserie just down the street from my residence. I frequented them often, nearly every day even, they made the best pastries in all of the city and consequently befriended the family. Mrs. Dubois, a widower, values family above all else so after her twin eldest daughters married businessmen from Boston, she desperately wanted to move closer but struggled to find a suitable facility. I helped arrange the location and had their first few months of rent waived until they could raise the sufficient funds to pay themselves.”

Yon’s face softens at the sincerity of her actions while he settles into his own seat, “what a wonderful gift you gave them.”

Carol shrugs her shoulders while nodding a quick thanks to the waitress filling their teacups, “I had the means and the connections to help them, of course I would ensure their successful transition.”

Maria sighs as she lays her linen napkin onto her lap, “that’s just Carol for you, she’s had a heart of gold since our girlhood.”

“You’ve known each other long then?”

“Since our birth,” Carol clarifies, sipping the hot liquid in her cup before wrinkling her nose at the bitter taste. It needed sugar, she concluded. “Maria and I were both born in Boston and grew up together. When my father took on greater responsibility in the company, we moved to the city. We were both still young girls and it should have spelled the end for our friendship, but our relationship was just too close-knit to cease. We may have only had summers, but we grew as close as two can be nonetheless. Our friendship survived and thrived on letters and shared dreams.” 

“I only moved to Louisiana after I met and married my husband during a short spell serving as a war nurse in Samoa. He is a United States diplomat who was working on negotiations with Germany and the United Kingdom at the time.”

“I assume then that you are full of tales from your youth. I can only imagine how wild Miss Danvers must have been when such actions are expected,” Yon inquires before muttering a quick thanks to the waitress leaving them a sampler of cakes.

“Tales? I could write you a never ending series of vignettes and novellas, perhaps even entire novels! Has she told you about the time she stole a sailboat?” Maria asks as she reaches to take a slice for her famished daughter.

“Not yet,

“When we were both nine years old, we had been watching our brothers yacht racing on the Charles. Carol had asked if we could sit on the stern while they sailed but one of their acquaintances commented that sophisticated young girls do not belong on the water. Well, she pouted but no one thought anymore of it. During a small lunch break however, Carol had creeped onto the boy’s ship while no one was looking. The batty, wee thing hmanaged to undo the boater’s knot anchoring it to the deck and off she drifted! Her mother nearly fainted and wailed bloody murder when she saw her waving happily. All seven of the racers had to jump ship and swim to her, clothes, shoes, and all. The whole ordeal dragged on for a half hour!” Maria laughs at the memory. “She made it quite far though, all things considered.”

“It’s a good thing they made it to me or I would have never turned back!” Carol adds on while choosing a slice of chocolate for herself.

Yon chuckles at the tale, “if this is the first narrative you share with me, then I fear what else there is to come. What can ever top stealing a ship?”

“Oh you would be absolutely staggered,” Maria assures as she blows onto her tea.”There was the time she stole her brother’s suit and masqueraded as a man to attend a Harvard lecture-“

“It was discussing the findings of William Herschel on radiation! How could I ever refuse?”

“Or when she paid off the police from arresting picketing suffragettes at city hall-“

“They claimed they were ‘disturbing the peace’ with a silent sit-in, it was posterous!”

“Or maybe when she challenged a colonel to arm wrestle-“

“And won if I may add!”

“He was completely blotto!”

“A win is a win nonetheless!”

The two women’s gazes cross and for a moment they stare down each other, challenge glazed in their irises. It lasts only a moment before the two break out into a fit of giggles at their obtuseness.

Maria hiccups as her laughter dies out and wipes a stray tear fromthe corner of her eye,“I fear even your impending marriage will be unable to tame you, Carol.”

Carol’s silverware nearly falls out of her hands at the statement, her breath hitching in her throat. Maria’s eyes widen while she watches her friend’s reaction, quickly realizing she had misunderstood the situation. Her hand moves to cover her mouth as if she was trying to smother the words, but it was too late. They had been said and most definitely heard.

“Marriage?” Yon restates, glancing in Carol’s direction, confusion laced in his words and something else more subtle. Betrayal? Disappointment?

She trains her eyes down to stare at her food and she cuts her cake as if slicing through a tough piece of meat, scratching the china plate it rests on. Her voice is tight, “I am to be married this coming fall.”

“Oh,” he sputters, scratching the back of his neck while straightening his dessert spoon and knife, “well please accept my warmest congratulations. Who is the lucky chap?”

“I do not know,” she states simply, her fork dropping out of her hand lazily. “The arrangement was made by my father and I was only told that my fiancé has the capabilities to cut the company’s framing material costs by a quarter.” 

“What about his name? His homestead? What he looks like?”

“I know only that he is especially wealthy. I doubt anything more will be disclosed to me until I walk down the aisle.”

An awkward silence and heavy air surrounds the once cheery, light-hearted party. Carol’s eyes remain trained on the red rim of her plate, Maria’s horrified look may have left her face but still remains in her gaze, and poor Monica is left to curiously look between the trio. 

Yon clears his throat before rising from his seat, the women’s eyes jerking to watch him depart, “I forgot to set up a tab before we were seated. I’ll only be a moment.” 

Carol nods with such a small smile that no dimples divot her cheeks, passively watching him fade out of view. 

The minute Yon slips around the corner and the peach curtain, Maria swiftly turns to face her friend and bows her head in apology, but also in avoidance of Carol’s eyes. She rushes out, “Carol, you must forgive me! When you said he was lodging with your family on business, I concluded from what you disclosed in your notes that he was the man! Humor was my honest intention, I would have never said anything if I had known he was not!”

Carol leans out over her seat to place her hand over Maria’s, gently stroking the back of her hand with her thumb to appease her guilty friend. “Do not fret, you could not have known. I would have made the same conclusion,” she sighs before muttering a small regret, “truthfully, I should have said something myself.”

“Auntie Carol, how can you marry someone you don't know?” Monica interrupts, her brow furrowed and the corners of her lips drooping.

Carol smiles sadly at the girl, softly caressing her round cheek, “not everyone is so lucky as to marry for love as your mother did and as you will someday do.”

As Carol drops defeatedly back into her seat, Maria opens her mouth, but immediately clasps it shut and plasters on an overly-wide smile instead as Yon reapproaches the table. Once he settles back into his chair, the group returns to eating, a veil of overt ignorance occasionally revoked with insincere, superficial conversation. 

* * *

After bidding Maria and Monica goodbye outside the cafe with hugs and promises to reunite the next day, Yon and Carol walked the short distance back to the residence. Sneaking into the house would be no problem at such a busy hour of the day. 

They had decided on taking the quieter, more deserted route of cutting through the park rather the busy shopping avenues. The two wak at a leisurely pace, not necessarily rushed to return. Yet even with the time they had, no further words had passed between them. The silence was grating to Carol. She found herself yearning for not only the light-heartedness they had previously encompassed, but simply desperate just to hear his voice, his opinion, his words. He listened to her, respected her, laughed with her, and above else, he genuinely  _ enjoyed _ her, something she could say about a select few in her immediate life. In such little time, his presence had become a hunger to her that needed to be sated. The thought that within months she would have to accept him being a stranger in her life once again seemed unthinkable; she was unsure she could ever go without his company. She refused to spend the time they had together just like that, strangers tiptoeing around the safety net of societal normalcy and decency. To be so near to him, yet feel so far, was unbearable. 

She wrings her hands as they rest just below her bust, her voice firm but slightly shaky, “I am sorry I did not tell you of my engagement.”

Yon shakes his head, “you owe me no apology nor explanation, Carol.”

Carol plants her feet on the cement sidewalk, her stance straightening and chin raising. Her stare is intent on him, “I feel as though I do. Strategically holding a truth is the equivalent of sharing a lie and I would never desire to hurt you in such a manner. It’s just,” Carol sighs, “it was nice to be asked about my interests as a person rather than my interests as a wife. Even more so, I dreaded driving you away, having you cede our conversations in the name of grace and expectation because that would bring me the most unhappiness.”

He smiles demurely and slowly approaches her, taking her hand in his, “nothing could ever dispel me from your side, Carol.”

She chuckles dryly, “I fear that stance will melt as you grow to know me better.”

“Nonsense, with every moment I spend beside you, I find myself being further entranced,” he insists, his grip tightening on her lax hand and eyes assuring his sincerity. 

A small grin graces her firmly set frowned lips, “you will be pleased to know I think that the feeling is mutual.” 

They resume walking side by side, yet closer than before, a spring in Carol’s step and a lightness in her soul.

After their pace steadies, Yon hesitantly asks, “when do you marry?”

Carol dementor drops again, but she tries to keep herself at least somewhat upbeat. “The twenty-second of September.”`

“The first day of autumn?”

“As I said, my father wants to waste no time. The very minute our summer ends and we step foot back in New York, I am to be wed.”

A glint shines in his eyes when he connects the words she has a spoken with their precious discussions, “so when we talked of seeing the world-“

“Perchance you are in agreement it really is a dream, all things considered?” Carol chuckles insincerely, a slight bark of bitterness at its edge, “I have come to the unfortunate realization that I will forever be tethered to a life that I had no choice in and will find no purpose in.”

It’s Yon’s feet’s turn to falter, arguing “You deserve so much more than the cards you have been dealt.”

She cannot bear to meet his eyes, instead she trains her auburn stare on the cracks on the concrete below her heeled feet, “Our fate is sometimes simply not up to our personal design.”

“Fate be damned!” He abruptly burst, his anger and resentment at something bigger than themselves boiling over and coloring his face. “You  _ deserve _ to see Paris and London, you  _ deserve _ to ride on one of those flying machines, you deserve-“ his voice cracks at the end of the last syllable and he runs his hand through his hair frustrated, “you deserve happiness, you are  _ owed _ happiness.”

Her heart constricts at the sweetness and sincerity of his sentiment; she could count the people who honestly cared for what she desired on one hand and none had ever been so openly upset at the thought of such longing going forever unment. In a single stride, she closes the distance separating them. Against her better judgement, she takes his cheek into her palm. Stubble that has risen since his last shave tickles and scratches her skin and her thumb naturally runs over the blunt apex of his cheekbone. She breathes a soft whisper onto his lips, “being told that I am worthy of such a thing is almost better than actually having it.”

He traps her hand with his own before maintaining,“you should not have to settle for pretty words over action and experience.” 

“Then give me action and experience, make our next few months together something I can forever reminisce on. Make them exciting, thoughtful, provoking. Make me not have to settle.”

He laughs softly before agreeing, “although I fear I cannot replace such extensive dreams, I will do everything I possibly can to try.”

Carol shakes her head before breaking away and moving forward down the path once again. She calls over her shoulder, “simply being by your side for these days will be enough thrill to satisfy me for the rest of my days.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been 2 months since I posted the last chapter?! Literally how?!? Sorry for dropping off the face of the literal planet. I leave for college in T - 16 days and I’ve been like buried in work: making sure all my credits transfer, making all my dorm room stuff (bedding and pillows and everything), dealing with COVID changes, changing my major and department, AHHHHHHH. Also, not trying to flex at all, but I’m attending a top 15 university in the US and I’m suffering from major imposter syndrome and anxiety so I’m dying inside. *Sighs* It’s a miracle I’m alive, lord. Hope the length of this chapter makes up for it! I’ll edit any mistakes tomorrow plus add the French translations. Love you all, hope your day has been wonderful!


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